Sullen Cullen
by BlotOfInkOnFinger
Summary: Bella meets her new piano teacher - one known for his reserved and discreet attitude. But can she break through the walls around her and touch something she thinks can never be hers?
1. The First Chapter

**Sullen Cullen**

His intense stare looked forced and painful and his face was so white one felt like it had been soaked in water again and again until he could show no emotion…like trying to write on a white piece of marble.

That's what Edward Cullen was all about – immaculate, posh, cleansed, white, but never pure? His fairness could be compared to an angel's face but on second glance, you noticed the narrowed eyes, the tight mouth and you would think that something very dreadful happened to this boy that removed his halo and cleaned him of every imperfection, perfection, feeling, expression, emotion.

This is what I thought when I met my new teacher for the first time. He looked so young, only seventeen years old, but seemed to hold much more experience than expected. I, Bella Swan, felt timid and shy next to this grown up, mature boy. He looked at me blankly, with tightly pursed lips which looked glued together.

"Um..Nice place." I said awkwardly, looking around at the barren wooden room with plants scattered in every corner. A large grand piano stood in the middle with a long burnt orange coloured stool. A long legged, lanky, unbelievably good looking boy sat on the stool, his wrinkle free face indicated his short life but his blue eyes led me to think of him as an 'adult'.

He smiled slightly and continued to look at me head to toe. I always believed in first instincts, which is why I had taken care to dress up as a normal, pretty enough teenager. First impressions were the clinchers of every friendship or animosity.

I remember him saying something about how he knew I thought it was a strange place, much like a ballet studio. I grinned at some small joke he made and moved forward. I'm a pretty perceptive person and I noticed how vigilant he was. His actions were restricted and not at all graceful; As I sat next to him on the stool and watched his long fingers move over the keys, I noticed his insecure posture. Guarded, I decided, would describe him best playing the piano.

It continued for some days, little or no conversation – just the piano connecting us. Otherwise he was lost, I felt like he forgot me through half of the lessons, ignoring _me _and talking to my fingers instead, addressing them, commenting on _their _movements. It was months later when he finally touched me, only my index finger, guiding it over the keys. I noticed the electric shock surge through me. Something was in my stomach, fluttering.

I couldn't believe they were butterflies.

It had been two years of practice with him that I noticed his teeth. So white and sharp. And his lips so red. His skin so white and his hair so bronze. Everything about him was in contrast with the rest of him.

I wished he could be something like me, I wish all the signs would actually exist and I didn't have to kid myself into making up reasons as to why I felt he was one of my kind. I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. But he was just a sullen boy. And I was something much more.

What had happened to him to make him so unapproachable, so discreet? I could make up an ordeal similar to one I had suffered, but that would be unreasonable and biased of me. Not everyone with communication problems had to be like me.

I remember how our sessions became more frequent, and how we never talked but just looked at our fingers – playing out our emotions in the tunes we played, in the movement of our hands. I noticed that his fingers were looser and faster on the keys when he was in a rollicking mood and how rigid they'd become when his lips were pursed tighter than usual. We understood each other.

I went to him until my fingers were skilled enough to play as fast as him and slow down as skillfully as his. How we played to the tempo we made, it was perfect. _We _were perfect.

Then I noticed how much time had passed since I'd arrived at that town and I couldn't tell if he, especially him out of everyone, noticed how long my face had remained ever young and fresh, despite the mature hair-cuts.

So I left. The last lesson I had with him, I played the tune we did best, it was Debussy. I suppose the light touch of my hand on his was a farewell enough for both of us. I left and never heard of him again. He was my piano teacher and I was the unfortunate girl who could never stay in one town for too long.

When I returned years, years later, the studio had been closed. Edward had moved somewhere far away. Ever since noticing how reserved he was, I found out that despite my deluded vision of myself as carefree as I'd been before meeting Paulo and the cult, I was always like him. My lips would purse when I played the piano and my face _had_ grown fairer and fairer every time I looked at myself in the mirror. I was as discreet, guarded and reserved as him.

I was like him because I never got too close with anyone, never found love or happiness. Because I am a vampire. Of course. And now that I begin to think about it, I'm pretty sure he was too.

But I lost the chance. So what's left but to sit around waiting for another Edward Cullen till the 'end'? What else can anyone like Edward and I do but to sit and play the piano, listening to the sadness of eternity?

* * *

**A/N: So cliché, I can't believe this is something I actually wrote. It was very quick and impulsive. A bit rough I daresay but I hope you liked it. Or at least, I hope you could tolerate it. PLEASE do review. I can view the hits so you might as well drop in a word. Much appreciated. **


	2. About His Long & Winding Road

**About His Long & Winding Road**

**A/N:** Listen to **I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For** by U2 for the first part before the black line – if you can get your hands on the song. It'll sound better – promise.

By the way, I know Stephanie Meyer's vampires don't eat or drink, but these ones do.

* * *

He felt like he'd lost his way. Somewhere, along the crowded streets, or the quiet narrow roads made for motorbike races, he'd forgotten what he wanted.

Edward Cullen didn't make plans, or divide his days into specific categories. He didn't classify or organize or label. He went with the flow. Cheesy as it sounds, Edward had been 'living' for so long, yeah – a couple of centuries at most – he'd done everything. He'd been everyone and seen till he was ready to criticize or even inwardly carp on about the Eiffel, the Taj Mahal, etc etc.

Where did he stand now? He'd been through the infatuations and the brief periods of flings – the long durations of true love. Nothing seemed to last, not even his much anticipated piano sessions with Bella Swan.

Bella…Edward thought. Where would she be now? A pretty mortal girl, probably married. To a brooding, moody artist, he thought wickedly. No, she wasn't like that…couldn't be. But why should she be thought about by _him_?

They say life's too short, but Edward had lived longer than anyone; He still hadn't found what he was looking for.

What was he looking for?

* * *

**(Listen to 12:51 by The Strokes)**

The room was completely empty except for a slim bed and a small writing table by the window. I can't sit in here, he thought. Normally, days would pass and Edward wouldn't notice how long he'd been lying in bed for. Today was different?

He had an urge in him, for excitement, a bit of music, something to drink… a pub. Something to make his legs move.

It wasn't the fanciest place where one could run into the Aga Khan or something…definitely not. Mifflin's was a small, all-wooden bar for the best beer bums out there. Edward desperately wanted to tell Hayes about it. Where ever he was…the Pyramids or the Karakorum.

"Hey." He heard a soft, deep voice. There was a young girl with long brown hair ruffled and disheveled, framing her red cheeks and clashing with her green eyes.

He didn't feel like talking…when it came to actual conversations with people, his need for excitement drained away and he was reminded of how that friendship, or love would never last. Maybe not even extend to a second meeting.

"Hi." He decided – he was almost drunk, bored and completely free. He gave her a small smile, making her eyes shine for a second. Yes, Edward knew he was a catch – and the pretty brunette knew she'd never met anyone so gorgeously angelic yet run down as him.

"You alone here?" she shot him a quick flirty smile.

"Yeah," pulling the mug of beer to his lips. "You?" He was thinking if he actually cared…maybe he did this time.

She rolled her eyes and said helplessly "Yeaah, but the drink makes it feel better…I promise." She didn't make any sense, slurring her words together and laughing randomly. "I'm Rachel by the way." Apparently not drunk enough to forget a flirty tone.

**(Nothing Compares To You by Sinead O'Connor) **

They sat together for a while listening to the Juke Box go from American Girl by The Heartbreakers to Moment of Surrender by U2. Rachel swayed her head, with a soft, reminiscent smile never leaving her face. Edward sat completely still, he wasn't playing the heartbroken lover…just the speculative reject. Bella Swan…Bella Swan…her little index finger with the longest nail out of all ten, and then the tiny thumb with the little black spot on its side. The dancing little fingers…and the look of intense concentration.

Did he miss it?

* * *

**A/N: **Umm….I don't know what to say about this one. I feel its lacking…considering Edward's depth of emotion. I'm trying to show his real side from his thoughts – the teenager in him, and then his brooding role. DID anyone feel it? I must stop explaining everything in these Author Notes!

**Please Review!**

**p.s** Is anyone freaked by the song references? Yeah…I'm pretty weird. But the music helps add a convincing tone to the words. Try it for this chapter at least.


	3. Mysterious Ways

**Mysterious Ways**

* * *

**A/N: **The mysterious 'Rachel'. She pops out of nowhere, and we think Bella Swan has been replaced.

She had a wide, pretty smile. If it wasn't pretty in the obvious way, it was when you saw the twinkle in the eyes and decided what there was to love and fear about her. There was a sense of self-confidence, and a pride many mistook for arrogance, conceit. She wasn't impassive or restrained. She could flirt and make a man think she was out to get him, as quickly as letting him know that he was just a useless fling for her.

Rachel wasn't a Bella Swan, or a Paris Hilton…or the Angela Webber Edward had met in one of his high schools…she was different, if not intriguing. The previous night they had sat at the bar till the early morning and then she got up around 3 A.M, not piss drunk entirely, but surely unable to move without falling conveniently into Edward's lap.

He remembered hoisting her up over his back, her legs dangling invitingly in front of him as he walked, trying to get some information about where she lived.

Laughing uncontrollably and pointing fun at the back of his designer jeans, she was irresistible. Did Edward need her? No. He didn't feel the same intense longing as he did when without Bella, instead – he simply wanted her.

He smiled slightly as she began tracing circles on his lower back provocatively, lifting his shirt up…

And then came the rude awakening –

He was a vampire.

Vampire. Just the word reminded him of his incurable _disease. _He sternly told her to stop tickling him so that he could get her to wherever she lived and leave for more important, useful things. Harsh….but it was needed.

Walking home, he questioned himself, was there anything he actually _needed _anymore?

But Rachel didn't occupy Edward's thoughts for long. In fact, when his head hit the pillow and he looked up at the ceiling, counting the cracks as he did with every small, rackety motel room, he remembered the tune Bella always played when she was out of sorts or troubled about something. It was slow in the beginning, took up a fast tempo and then returned to a leisurely pace. It always suited Edward's heartbeat – which accelerated whenever he met her.

* * *

Rachel lay down on her big, spacious bed and closed her eyes…unable to sleep; she couldn't stop thinking about the unresponsive guy she'd just flirted uncontrollably with. She never regretted her open, friendly behavior with everyone, but didn't she just completely reveal her feelings for someone probably playing **hard to get**?

She knew that wasn't it. He was different, definitely. Maybe. Her thoughts were like a wild cyclone, going from one theory to another.

Hayes…she would have to ask him about this one, only if he was actually there with her for once.

_Thud thud. Thud thud._

She jerked up at the sound of the pounding at her hotel door. "MISS? Miss Rachel? Miss Rachel Ripe?"

Her surprise went to laughter, as she heard her 'new' last name. "YES?" she called out, muffling her laughter. The weirdness of her last names never grew old on her.

The pounding increased. "YES? Yes I'm coming, I'm coming!" She knew what she was in for; She'd been through it so many times anyway.

Rachel opened the door and peered out, meeting the eyes of a large, well built young man, in a uniform with 'Manager' sewn in blue letters. He blushed at her scanty attire – a pair or mini shorts and a tank top. She smiled flirtatiously and looked up at him. It was starting –

"Do you…" she feigningly thought hard for a moment, "Need something, Sir?"

"I..er," the poor boy cleared his throat; Rachel continued her irresistible movements, "I am sent on the report that you haven't paid for your stay this past month." He looked away from her legs and into her testing eyes.

She knew he wouldn't last long. Rachel sighed and pulled him into her room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

She'd fought with the devil and lost.

She gave up and went down. She lost him and forgot. The thoughts and the strain, made her fade, and then she went under. She faded out and lost somewhere there.

Wasn't she Bella Swan? Wasn't this whole vampire business a **pain** but never described as so **painful** and, **hopeless**? She was the rotting egg and then she became the dead bird.

Who survives _forever_?

Edward made it, she thought sadly. He was probably somewhere figuring out his next move and succeeding because he had always been the lone, brooding type. Bella was the misunderstood misfit meets interesting and popular in high school - and then she became mature, serious, invincible and everlasting.

But what's the use of **everlasting **when you have no one to appreciate that? Or even if you do, you're tired.

Bella was tired of changing clothes and finding jobs, making money and gambling on everything just because she knew she'd live with it.

The sadness of it all was that she had all the time in the world to go from perfect to ruin to perfect.

Slipping and sliding.

Maybe it was time to fall.

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, it went from a chilling, flirty Edward and Rachel to a suicidal Bella Swan. I wanted to make it longer but I just didn't want to write about Bella in first person right now.

No songs in this one! Although you could try Street Spirit by Radiohead. OH, and the long descriptions will be replaced by dialogue sometime soon. Definitely. Maybe. (Yes, I saw the movie and now I can't stop saying it)

Anyway, Review Please!


	4. Wake Me Up?

**Wake Me Up?**

**Weird Fishes/ Arpeggi **by Radiohead for the first part.

* * *

**Here comes the rain again, falling from the stars. Drenched in my pain again, becoming who we are. As my memory rests but never forgets what I lost, wake me up. **

Turn me on, turn me off. Turn me off, turn me on.

When a baby is born, you know the world won't end anytime soon. When it's your baby in your arms solemnly gazing up at you, you're sure God means for the world to go on. Then when someone dies and it's your friend lying motionless in the dirt, moments seem to trickle past one by one. So slow, but leading the way along a broken path to a point.

That's the point where you die and lie satisfactorily under treaded land. You did what you could, you loved who you did and you got some of the things you wanted. That was your end; soon that'll be everything's end, whether it likes it or not.

And if that doesn't happen, if you can never sleep after that long day, you know something's wrong. You feel there's nothing for you; you feel like nothing; Like a never-ending maze, an empty jug of water, air-sunlight-sand.

*

Bella remembered the time she was six years old, sitting on the wooden floor of her mother's dressing room. She was looking at her parents' wedding album, when they were young, beautiful and in love. They looked so happy, she had thought. And she was mature enough, even at that time, to know that even if they were in their graves, she shouldn't want them to come back. They had been happy, and left when they were called.

No one should wish for that to be reversed.

"BELLA!" A loud cry cut through her thoughts. "Bella?" A tall young man walked into her room. He grinned mischievously and halted in the doorway, surveying his surroundings momentarily. He spotted Bella, propped against the side of her bed.

"Reminiscing again? About some scarred childhood or what? "He asked, folding his arms; His eyes twinkled good-naturedly.

"Hey Hayes." She said returning his grin. She got up from the floor and walked to the mirror, running a hand through her wild brown hair. "Back from Egypt already? Or was it Morocco?"

"Italy actually. I had an irrepressible craving for pasta. Red sauce. And you, I believe, have been living in this," He paused – and continued, after a brief yet austere silence, "hole."

She noticed the evident disparity in their lifestyles, shown by his casual yet expensive attire, compared to her dreary, ill used jeans. Ironic; Last year both were vacationing in Milan – living a rich life.

"I need money. And I know you have it because you're wearing an incredibly gay Gucci belt. You look retarded." Bella smiled slightly as she ran her eyes over him.

Jasper Hayes was the only vampire around who could actually skip from archaeology to astronomy to business in six decades with an ear-to-ear grin on, more money in his pocket than the number of stars in the sky.

They'd met on the streets in China. Hayes was a self-exploring, funny guy from Manchester who took pity on Bella and gave her some money to ride a bus. There was also the small detail that he knew practically _everyone; _he was one vampire who made use of his way of life.

"If you need money, why don't you get a job?" he asked frowningly, peering into her face.

"I've been getting jobs and squandering my money for a century and more. I just need my very last loan to meet someone." Bella replied, looking into his eyes expectantly, almost.

Hayes raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Yeah, okay." pulling an arm around her shoulders. "But lets get an American Cheeseburger first." He added.

"Sure." She feigned a chilled attitude – inwardly thinking how she'd break her news to someone who seemed so happy, and oblivious to it all.

* * *

**The Eraser by Thom Yorke**

The piano keys seemed to shake beneath his fingers. It had been a long time since his hands had controlled any kind of instrument, Edward felt…complete? No, he felt a part of him had been erased, the part that transmitted the genius musical notes from his brain to his fingers. Why did he feel that he'd lost his **control**? Over…everything?

Confusion.

Piano was all about control for him, to lead the keys – bring them down and take them up again. He stopped abruptly and glared at the grand mahogany instrument.

Why is it, that even when you forget thinking about someone day and night – wondering who they were with and what they were doing, the feeling when they're hand touched yours, still lingers?

And then you feel like a complete idiot for ever trying to forget that person.

"Cullen?" A deep resonant voice cut through his mental turmoil. It belonged to a tall, heavyset man clad in a black leather jacket and ripped jeans. "I told you to start sweeping the bloody room. Stop that racket." He said gruffly, tossing Edward the long broom lying on the floor.

Edward smiled in satisfaction. His plan didn't afford him the most delight or excitement, surely, but just fulfillment, in the sense that was trying at least.

After much thought, he'd decided - :

When money can't buy you the will to keep interested, you go back to where you started.

* * *

"So, what's been happening? How are you?" He inquired, biting into a big fat Wendy's cheeseburger.

The girl opposite him was tall, thin, brunette and very morose. "Well, stuff," she paused, weighing her words, "has happened. But nothing too serious." She ended on a lighter note.

"Right. Nothing serious." He repeated contemplatively. "That would explain the beggarly situation you're in right now?"

"No one has to live in Designer jeans forever, Hayes." She answered snappishly, running a hand through her hair in irritation.

A silence ensued, in which Bella bit her lip and glanced all around her, stopping at a plant nearby. Hayes continued to bit into his cheeseburger, frowning slightly.

"Oh screw it." she announced, finally. "So I'm sick of this. _Everyone _gets sick of it. And I'm the one just tired of doing something I don't want to…" she stopped and looked at Hayes; He waited expectantly.

"Jasper, I'm…_exhausted. _I've done whatever I wanted to, or had to. I don't see why I have to continue all this loneness and solitude."

"Jasper?" Bella repeated worriedly. She leaned over to ruffle his hair; A habit never to grow old with those two.

"All this talk about equality. The only thing people really have in common is that they're going to die." He murmured thoughtfully. "That's Dylan, you know."

She sighed and laughed, toying with a French fry as she spoke, "Proves what we are though."

"It only proves our difference; it's whowe can _become_ that proves anything, Bella. The drama and angst you're putting into this is irrational. If it wasn't you, it would be someone else. You're defining yourself by what you've been given, not what you've done."

She slowly narrowed her eyes. "You're smart Jasper, but you think differently too. I love you, but the one person I feel I can talk to about this disappeared a long time ago." She looked up and raised both eyebrows, with eyes shooting waves of plaintiveness out at him.

"How much do you need?" he relented.

* * *

**A/N: **

I think there should be more intensity & emotion involved for a person who would never be able to place their fate in someone else's hands. Edward had to try to die on his own accord in New Moon.

Like what the hell is THAT about?

That's some pretty crazy shit.  
Review for the betterment of this crappy or potentially strong fanfiction – whichever you've decided on.  
By the way, the beginning lyrics are by Green Day for Wake Me Up When September Ends)


	5. Stuck

**Stuck**

* * *

Words don't flow out for me. No, they only come when I think hard about what it is that I'm actually feeling. And if I don't think, I'm left with a notebook full of incoherent drabbles – of uncertain hopes, blind hopes. And then blunt realizations.

What can this piece of paper do for me anymore? How can I talk to it? How the hell do I address my own thoughts when I already know that to be knee-deep in shit become worse when you realize that the path back has been **erased **for you?

Writing used to be easier. I gave it up, when I gave myself up. And now I'm left hole-like, with no depth. Down – not spiraling – just floating. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. I'm a** slut. **Is that all I know anymore?

I've decided, that even if you're born with all the luxuries in the world, things **will **go wrong for you at a point.

The question is : Can I be bothered to make them right again?

-R.

________________________________________________

Edward could see blue lights revolving, orange birds flying towards him. He could feel cold wind hitting his shoulders and his torso, pushing him back. That's what was happening – he couldn't go forward.

Then he saw it, a large white blob , slowly forming into a long horizontal line. He saw a milky white circle followed by a long lean body, naked and nude in all it's glory. Wild brown hair spread out from the top and he remembered. How could he forget those strands of hair which had, unbeknownst to him, taunted him?

"You haven't seen enough. You haven't seen enough." A whisper sounded in his ear, and the face came nearer - a white, chiseled wax doll-like face, the seduction - the temptation. It was like sticks of metal were hitting each other with no way to stop, nails were scratching each other.

But it ended. The face went away and the body couldn't be seen. A soft lullaby started to play..in the background of Edward's thoughts.

"Bella?" He tried to shout but he could only murmur her name.

"What do you want?" asked a scathing voice, high pitched and evidently irritated.

"You can't have me," A soft, sweet voice assured him.

"But you can try." A deep voice boomed in his ears, louder than any of the previous sweet, mischievous sounds that had reverberated, penetrated his body, glazed his eyes.

He woke up with a jerk, his mouth slightly open and sadly enough, a trail of saliva drooling down his chin. The lights were dimmed, and the air was hot but Edward could still lay a cool hand on his furrowed brow. The dream…or rather, that Motion Picture his brain had just conjured for him, had eradicated his senses. He felt numb, almost. What kind of feelings and emotions were coming out of his stiff mindset?

The strings had been loosened, it seemed. Even though much pressure hadn't been thrusted on them at all, and force was avoided – Edward could still believe that he _had _fallen in love. He didn't need any stolen glances, blushes creeping up his cheeks, filmy quips – dates, roses and shaking lips, trembling fingers, declarations. How did any of that _matter_? What need is there for such a sentimental, strong love when your brain could be clouded over by the mere touch of the tip of her finger on yours?

Conversation? Who needs that when you can enjoy the silence?

Descriptions? Why do you need to describe something so simple, so uncomplicated?

They had sat on that burnt orange piano stool and seen each others' souls, heard each others' heartbeats and slowly fallen into a trance. This was called the fall. This was the inevitable fall when you came to know someone so similar to you, someone you didn't need to talk to to understand.

How unbelievable it sounded. Even Edward's old, wise head found it so utterly _unbelievable_, but sometimes, he guessed, you just had to believe what sounded like the impossible; The contrived – the conveniently imagined.

* * *

**A/N: **It's really been ages since I've updated this story. Severe writer's block maybe, or just disinterest. I don't know, but it took me a while to get this together, and sadly enough – this much thought-over chapter is the shortest in the story, and with nothing but serious thoughts – feelings and perhaps – boring explanations to things instead of any dialogues. Well, this is it. I think it's the most revealing about the Prime Central of the story, which is of course, Bella and Edward's unfinished love story.  
Also, one Great thanks to an awesome reviewer, **chele the original**, who really gave me the final boost I needed when I was going through my inbox and read her reviews again. Thanks a lot! I love hearing everyone's opinions, and those ones were Much appreciated.


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